A Reflection of Observing Ramadan During Quarantine (May 2020)
I’m used to celebrating Ramadan (the Islamic month of abstaining from food and water from sunrise to sunset) in America. Unlike many Muslim countries, Western countries do not specifically cater to fasting schedules; we Muslims have to mentally prepare to integrate our religion with society, even if it seems a bit unnatural at first. We force ourselves to eat at 3am, to opt out of cups of coffee during a bustling work day, and to be mindful of our mannerisms when feeling restless and groggy. We may increasingly feel lethargic as each day passes, but our day-to-day professional and social encounters can, and usually do, distract us. Despite the physical difficulties, we grow accustomed to the temporary hardships each year.
In fact, many of us even enjoy it. Often, we look forward to greeting each other with hugs and happenings of our day. We conclude nightly prayers with spontaneous trips to nearby cafes. We share fruits from our gardens that we typically forget about for the rest of the year: such as mulberries, my favorite. We indulge in cuisines from various cultures: from samosas and pakoras, to kabobs, to stir fry. We attend halaqas, or sermons, past midnight; usually after, we go to our favorite 24 hour diners. And by diners, I really only mean Denny’s-- a community tradition. We reminisce and laugh about memories, while ranting about our struggles as children of immigrants. Most importantly, we remind ourselves of how privileged we are to have multiple prospering mosques in our city, where we all come together as one ummah, or community.
Then, we conclude each Ramadan with my favorite holiday: Eid al-Fitr (Holiday of Breaking Fast). Every year, I’m awoken by my mom enthusiastically reciting the Eid takbeer, a special chant used to welcome Eid wholeheartedly. She foreshadows the takbeer that loudly and strongly resonates through the walls of the rented hotel ballroom-- a calming, but piercing sound. We all recite the slow tune; there’s beauty in knowing that despite the endless ethnicities and backgrounds, many of us know the Arabic takbeer by heart.
All hundreds of us pray in unison, unified by the calls of the imam (prayer leader). Some listen to the khutbah, or the imam’s preaching, right after prayer. Others rush out to be greeted with the first nutritional breakfast after a month of fasting: donuts and coffee. The teenagers sneakily grab goodie bags meant for the children, but display their findings when posing for their biyearly Eid photoshoots. The phones and cameras become filled with group images of friends and families, accompanied with an abundance of selfies. We exchange gifts, rush to brunch, and look forward to the family Eid potluck, often held the following weekend.
Eid is often a chance for us to show up to indirectly show off traditional garments and runway looks. We assemble our best clothing to honor the joyous occasion. It is a celebration of successfully finishing the month of Ramadan, with the reiteration that hard work often leads to reward.
Unfortunately, there seems to be no major reason to cheer this year. Eid will be spent at home, potentially in our pajamas. Maybe my mom will happily recite the takbeer. We might order donuts. But we will certainly be left without the cheeriness prevalent when a friendly face greets us with: “As Salam Alaikum! Eid Mubarak!” Zoom calls could work, but it’s not the same.
Through an impartial standpoint, however, Ramadan was relatively easy this year. It was refreshing to find my family members not having to worry about calculating traffic for work: for example, leaving the house during Fajr (dawn) to unwillingly succumb to infamous Los Angeles traffic for several hours. All jobs and schooling were doable, and even during the record breaking heat wave, we were lucky to have no dire reason to be outside. We could stay up as late as we needed to, where we ate as late as possible (or, is it as early as possible?) to ensure we satiated hunger for the next day.
Family friends would cautiously deliver homemade meals, arriving in custom made masks (that physically concealed the excitement shown on the bottom half of their faces). They would insist that the pots remain empty when returned back to them, but seem surprised when their efforts were reciprocated, for some reason. We would all communicate through FaceTime and group messages, collectively defining the hardships of this distinctive month. Our overall communication consisted of sending voice memos longing for the day we can all fast together again, along with many crying face emojis with no needed context.
Silver linings are inevitable, surely. Yet, there is the lingering realization that although the physical sacrifices of Ramadan are temporary each year, this year we will not revert back to the life we all deem normal (as we usually do). We will continue to live through these unforeseen circumstances, and even bittersweetly bid adieu to the faint structure Ramadan brought us.
Ramadan came at a time where many of us were not fully ready. With the continuous wave of negativity in relation to COVID- 19, it didn’t feel authentic to exert positivity when worshipping. No amount of mental preparation could exclude the overwhelming thoughts many of us were, and are still, experiencing. Alas, it’s hard to continue to maintain faith and focus amidst this global adversity, where our primal instinct of surviving the unknown virus is imperative, and currently our biggest priority.
Furthermore, I am concluding Ramadan 2020 with mixed emotions: gratefulness, confusion, and resentment, just to name a few. I truly wish I could celebrate this supposedly joyous time, as per usual, but I’m indifferent. However, I’m lucky to have these wonderful memories to compensate for the events we collectively missed this year-- events that remind us of our religious lineage and allow us to embrace our individual, and collective, identities as Muslim Americans. I am hopeful that we will congregate next year in good health, and potentially reminisce over our time in quarantine. Or, maybe not.
Eid Mubarak.